Ficlet: [XMM] Scalpel: 1/1: Magneto
- Title: Scalpel
Author: Victoria P. [victoria_p@...]
Summary: The child is the father of the man.
Disclaimer: All X-Men characters belong to Marvel and Fox; this piece of
fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.
Archive: Lists, Muse's Fool. Please ask. I'll say yes.
Feedback: Yeah, baby.
Notes: Thanks to Jen, Pete, Melissa, Dot, and Meg. Summary comes from
"My Heart Leaps Up When I Behold" by William Wordsworth. This is a
response to Khaki's opening line challenge: "His blood dripped from the
counter like spilled milk."
The doctor's blood dripped from the counter like spilled milk.
Erik smiled thinly at his captors. They had strapped him down, but he
could still fight back. He didn't need his hands to make the needles
bend, the scalpels dance to his tune.
Since the day they'd separated him from his parents, he'd known he was
different from them. Weak, they were, and easily cowed.
He was special.
He could fight back.
He couldn't quite explain *how* he manipulated the metal, why it obeyed
his commands, or the sheer joy that flooded him upon doing it. He just
knew that he could, and so he did.
The doctor spat something at the guards, who approached warily. They had
beaten him every day for the past three weeks. But he had beaten them,
too, made their guns useless. And without guns, without the certainty in
their own superiority, they were nothing; bullies who'd been frightened
by his mastery of their weapons. He never let them see his fear; he
recognized that that would only make them strong again, and he couldn't
He knew that his time with the upper hand was dribbling away, that each
day they were learning more about him, and soon they would realize that
he could only control metal, and glass implements would appear to tease
out his secrets.
But they didn't know that yet. They still approached with needles to
drug him, and scalpels to cut him open, to see what made him different
from the other inmates, whom they treated like refuse.
He was determined that they wouldn't learn, wouldn't pry the enigma of
his powers from his mind or from his flesh.
The guards held him down, their hands imprinting fresh bruises on his
already battered body, and the doctor, the cut on his hand now bandaged,
approached with a grim smile on his face. Two of the guards grabbed
Erik's head, forcing his mouth open and holding his nose shut.
The doctor dropped a large pill down his throat and he gagged, trying
not to swallow, not to let them win this round. The soldiers clamped his
mouth shut and wouldn't let him breathe.
Finally, lack of air made him give in. As he waited for the pill to take
effect, he narrowed his eyes and quietly, with great concentration as
his vision blurred and his limbs grew heavy, bent all the instruments on
The last thing he saw, as his eyes fluttered closed, was the doctor's
frown as he realized his scalpels and specula were useless, twisted into
one giant heap of scrap metal.
His mind was his scalpel, and he planned his cuts well, determined to
survive at any cost.
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